Take My Hand
by GunsAndHandcuffs
Summary: Sherlock's back after four years, coming back to see his best friend...his friend, his partner, his roomate, his lover; but things aren't as he left them. John's married to Molly, Mycroft's lost in his mind, Lestrade is nowhere to be found, and Moriarty has also disappeared off the map. Can Sherlock find some way to fit back into everyone's lives after such a long absence?


_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings. All do belong to the fantastic writers for Sherlock at BBC!**_

**_Summary: Sherlock's back after four years, coming back to see his best friend...his friend, his partner, his roomate, his lover; but things aren't as he left them. John's married to Molly, Mycroft's lost in his mind, Lestrade is nowhere to be found, and Moriarty has also disappeared off the map. Can Sherlock find some way to fit back into everyone's lives after such a long absence or will he be forced to leave his dear friends once more?_**

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221 Baker's Street...where everything had started. That was where Sherlock had first really gotten to know Mrs. Hudson. Where he'd first chosen the title, 'consulting detective'. The first time he laughed when Mrs. Hudson found the toes in his fridge. The first time he'd had Lestrade burst in drunk on him sometime at midnight. The first time Donovan had nearly knocked his door down demanding that his flat be searched for drugs. The first time he'd met Anderson, though that was definitely something he'd prefer to forget. The first time he'd come home and decided to start a blog. He still had no idea why on _earth _he had decided to do that. It was also where he'd gotten to know John...when John's precious blog reached over 1,000 hits in a day, when John came home to find that Sherlock had shot the wall out of boredom, when John had barely batted an eye at him when Sherlock strode through the door with a harpoon and covered in blood...John hadn't known it then, but that had been one of the most touching moments of Sherlock's life. The fact that his best friend was so used to his odd antics that he just gave Sherlock a little shake of the head and the tiniest of smiles before turning back to his paper. It had meant the world to him that he had a friend that knew him so well. It was just astounding to Sherlock. The man who understood everything, could barely understand this.

It'd been a month or so before the 'Reichenbach Fall' as Sherlock preferred to call it. John and himself had been out for a drink, one thing led to another and the next morning, Sherlock woke up with a blasting headache, stomach churning hangover, taste of old alcohol and the sight of John scrawled out naked beside him in bed. That was an interesting day...John had woke up, they argued, shouted at the top of their lungs to try and figure out who's fault this was and then before they knew what was happening, they ended up kissing and again tossing around in the bed. It'd been the start of the best thing of Sherlock's life. No one knew, there was no drama, John didn't expect much from him except a quick kiss every now and then and making the occasional demand that Sherlock make him dinner. It was the best relationship that Sherlock had ever been in. There was many a day that they just sat side by side in their armchairs, holding hands. John read his newspaper with his free hand while drinking coffee, and Sherlock would just sit and read a book. John didn't hang all over Sherlock, demand to spend time with him or shower him with gifts. When Sherlock had questioned that, John had simply shrugged and said, "Your company is enough for me I guess." and proceeded to kiss a speechless Sherlock on the cheek before cheerfully returning to drinking his tea. Sherlock was dumbfounded. John was just perfect that way. He didn't hang all over Sherlock, he didn't need people to know about them, he didn't expect Sherlock to take him out all the time and he didn't mind just sitting quietly together holding hands. On holidays, Sherlock would play the violin for John and Mrs. Hudson as always, just to see the delighted look on John's face when he heard him play. Life was pretty much perfect. Then, Moriarty came along...

Sherlock hadn't thought much of Moriarty at first. He seemed clever; a good opponent for Sherlock. He hadn't paused to think that Moriarty would tear his life apart at the very seams and cause him to lose everyone he loved...he could still imagine John's face on the fateful day. He could still his panicked voice. He remember how he'd heard the pause when he said, "Goodbye, John." like John hoped Sherlock would say, "Psych!" or something witty like that. Sherlock could hear the desperation in John's voice when he replied. "Sherlock, don't!" was all Sherlock heard before he snapped the phone shut. He remembered spreading his arms and hearing John scream his name from the street below as he 'jumped' off. It hurt more than he thought possible. It was better for John this way...

Sherlock remembered his own funeral. Barely anyone had shown up. Mrs. Hudson, John and Mycroft had made up the entire ceremony along with a surprise visit from Lestrade who gave his best condolences to the three. Sherlock was shocked to see Mycroft cry. Mycroft had never cried in front of Sherlock. John hadn't cried. He just stood there in front of Sherlock's grave with an empty expression. He looked lost without Sherlock. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to rush to him; to hug him and kiss him and tell him he wasn't dead. But, he couldn't. John was safer this way. Mycroft left soon after Lestrade, apparently unable to handle the stress and pain from facing the fact that Sherlock was dead. Mrs. Hudson had hurried after him, telling John to meet her in the car. Sherlock watched from afar, watching John stand at his grave. John started speaking, but Sherlock was unable to discern what he was saying. It was enough though. Just to hear John's soft voice so sad tore away at Sherlock. John had stayed at his grave only a few more minutes before saying clearly, "Goodbye, Sherlock." he then turned and left, leaving Sherlock behind. Sherlock shed a single tear that he quickly wiped away.

"Goodbye, John." he had replied before turning his back as well and leaving to go to his new life.

Now, four years later, Sherlock was back. He figured four years was long enough for everything about Moriarty to blow over. He assumed Moriarty had believed he died as well, seeing as he hadn't heard from him and nothing had been blown up and no one killed. Now, he stood in front of 221 Baker's Street with a bouquet of roses behind his back. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for anything. He rang the doorbell after a tense few moments. He waited patiently for a few seconds before lifting up the doorknocker and knocking furiously on the door. If John wasn't home, Sherlock was going to have a fit. He was relieved to hear footsteps rushing down stairs and the sound of locks being undone.

"Wait just five bloody seconds!" John's voice came faintly through the door. It sent a pang of nostalgia through Sherlock. John sounded frustrated like he usually did...Sherlock had actually missed that. Even he was surprised. The door swung open and John stood there. "Whatever you're selling we're not...buying..." he breathed out the last word, realizing who it was. John paled significantly, his eyes going huge. Sherlock smiled slightly, holding the flowers out to John.

"Hello there, John." he greeted quietly, his eyes flickering over John. He looked essentially the same, still thin as usual. He had a few more wrinkles and some gray hairs, but other than that, it was the same old John. John opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find words. He stood speechless in the door for a good minute before he suddenly slammed the door in Sherlock's face. Now it was Sherlock's turn to be shocked.

Inside the house, John pressed his back to the door and slid to the floor, his entire body shaking. He tried to tell himself he was just relapsing into his phase of seeing Sherlock everywhere. Sherlock wouldn't bring him flowers. That was too considerate. The door to his flat opened and Molly appeared in casual dress, her red hair pulled into a loose bun. She looked worried when she saw John stricken on the floor, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"Who was at the door, John?" she asked him curiously. John was still struggling to find his breath, opening and closing his mouth a few times before uttering a single word.

"Sherlock."

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**_A/N: alright! This is my first Sherlock fanfic so please be gentle. I'd love some reviews though!_**


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